I was thisclose just to turning this off and deleting it from my tolisten Spotify list and dooming it to forgotten forever.
Pressing Plant, with all its nervous skittering and deboned tones, is annoying as shit.
Frustrating. Tense. Needlessly tense.
But the album opens into the windchime ivy of Trains of Hope and I'm _just_intrigued_enough_. A certain wandering, restless, genreless exploration spills out over the canvas in messy surges, poisoned again and again by those grating detuned tones, but with a stirring enough backdrop to carry you through, to the melodica buzzes, to the choral surges, to the horn wobbles, to the sitar sweeps.
Like a surprisingly-great thrift store painting someone's gold-sharpied the word +SHIT+ across.
You almost admire the gesture, as you struggle to find the beauty of the source, and grapple with the difficulty -- even as you wished you had an easier route, you almost appreciate the glass in your shoes for the scartissue 3.5/5
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